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The day when death caught up.

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Today was another drill. We had to be prepared-- there was no telling when, exactly, the enemy may strike. We were always on edge, even though it was sunny, clear, and strangely peaceful. Peace is always suspicious, more so in a time of war than any other time. On that sunny field, where the grass seemed to roll on forever.. that's where we spent our days, just training. Preparing for a strike which we thought would never come. The 'we' I'm talking about is a squadron that nobody even knew existed. We were so far off from anything that it was hard to know how the war was going.
Today's drill was to be a simple one: scout from the coastline up until the North Islands. A simple drill it was, too. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. No submarines, no enemy planes, no warships. Just a clear sea and a clear sky, stretching for miles, off to infinity. It was almost as if we were cut off from the rest of the world, isolated in some sort of lucid dream. Everything was just too calm and quiet. We always knew that good things never last, and nor could this strange and alien peace. We were right, of course, but make no mistake-- we were prepared.

We--or rather, I--woke up to the sound of sirens and loud engines, both from above, and roaring to life upon the ground. We had finally woken from our lucid dream-- the enemy was here. In no less than ten minutes, we were all in the air. Most of our base had been destroyed or was currently burning; that which was intact, I guessed, wouldn't last for very long. Suddenly, I was grateful for all those rigorous hours of training. After what seemed like weeks of fighting, but was in fact only hours, we managed to fend the enemy off. All of us were alive, but much less could be said for the base. We landed in the midst of smoldering ruins. The victory almost seemed empty. Everything we had known was gone.. photographs, plans, books, and memories. All burned. We all wished that we were still in that lucid dream.


Nearly a year later (and after several relocations and airfights), things only got worse.. The squadron was dramatically changed, as we had lost and gained members over the months. The most recent was a young man named Charles, originating from Silene Brook, which was barely an hour away. We were currently situated in South Berea, about 1,500 miles south of the North Islands. With all our relocations, it seemed like we were finally getting closer to the world, and to the war. Airfights had become more common, and we had a nightwatch and a daywatch, neither ever ending.

Every day, whether after an airfight or a simple drill, our newest recruit, Charles, would always come see me. He would smile brightly, and tell me what a good job I had done today. I could always hear him mumbling about how much he wanted to hear the history of our squadron. We were known as the Stranger Squadron, simply because no-one had ever known we had existed. After we started to relocate, publicity finally found us; soon, we were just as famous as any of the other squadrons. No matter what happened, though, Charles would always come visit.

After almost a month, Charles was finally assigned with me. I could feel his immense joy as he promised to take care of me. Through all of our airfights together, Charles always fought and soared with such ease. Though the airfights were long and hard, he still took care of me after all of them, making sure I was okay and ready for the next one. Throught the next few years, Charles and I became a part of each other. We fought side by side, like ice skaters dancing with grace. It almost seemed as though we had fell into another lucid dream, even through all the terror and tragedy around us.


One day, we were sent on a mission to Ouoran Lagoon, which was to the west of the North Islands. It would be a long flight, with many airfights along the way, but Charles and I were ready. Throughout the fog, the rain, and the countless airfights, we still held together. After a recorded two weeks, we finally reached Ouoran Lagoon. It was here that we would begin our first raid on an enemy base.

Not fifty minutes into the fight, we had already lost one comrade. The base was much more prepared than we had thought. I compared it to when we were first attacked, so many years ago. The air was filled with bullets and explosions, and the lagoon was being destroyed. Almost two hours later, something unexpected happened: Charles made a mistake. It had never happened before, so of course, I trusted him. Our leader had ordered us to focus our attack on the base, and not on the planes. Charles, however, decided to charge the planes, both for a surprise attack and to give the rest of his squadron cover. It almost seemed to be working, until his blunder finally got the best of him. His engine was shot and destroyed. Down he went.. no longer a magestic iron bird, showcasing the triumph of man over the air., instead, he was a smoking heap of metal, never destined to leave the ground on which he was born. I, of course, was forced to go with him, and we landed in a huge splash and a small explosion. We were both deemed dead.

The raid was unsuccesful, and the Stranger Squadron was forced to retreat, having only five members left. The news exploded, and soon our failiure was heard around the world. I couldn't hear a word of it, though. I was underwater.

Through the years, I watched as people searched for me and Charles. They found Charles' body, but never mine. I didn't expect them to. After all, Charles' beloved Kaydet was a plane. When questioned about his faithful partner in battle, our squadron leader just chuckled sadly, saying, "Kaydet now lives at the bottom of the lagoon. It is her home now. Do not disturb her. She deserves a rest."

Even after the war ended, I, Kaydet, still watched. Resting. Waiting for Charles to come back. Of course, I knew he wouldn't. I knew he wouldn't abandon his beloved Kaydet other than for death. Having no other choice, I settled down in my watery home, spread my wings for one last time, and finally rested.